If you’d asked 2017 Ilka – even as she was realizing in real time that she’d been consorting with the muddiest of pastel people – #liveandlearn – if she could envision firing a client, she’d’ve scoffed at you, determined as she was that none of the people attracted to her practice would ever behave in a manner shady enough to warrant banishment.
2017 Ilka was naive, y’all. An undeniably newborn babe in these professional shamanic woods; a green starseedling who believed good gluten-free biscuits were an impossibility.
Not so remains the case. For one thing, the GF game is blazing these days. For another, though my block fingers retain saintly patience because meditation breeds compassion, they do spring to life with ruthless certainty once the go-ahead drops. Vanished is the vacillation of yesteryear – because while I’m aware of and hold with tenderness the knowledge that folks are usually seeking me out for assistance healing energetic dis-ease, I am also aware that if we allow it, people – whether they’re dead or alive – will walk all over us (s/o Delia Deetz).
Por ejemplo:
The referral client who, unbeknownst to me, was gifted funds for a full session yet played dumb so as to scheme her way into a less expensive appointment and tried to pocket the remainder of the money.
The dude who shamelessly admitted that, although he knew a session would be helpful, wasn’t going to book because he’d just spent a bill on a fitted – and couldn’t understand why my follow up suggestion was that he tell the hat his problems.
The stranger who discovered T.I.P via our 5-star rated Yelp page and nonetheless fully requested an “answer for free” so she could see if it was “worth it”. Despite my bemused refusal, she proceeded to blather on about having an affair with a bus stop ghost until I ended the call mid-yap.
The music mogul inexplicably unable to navigate the internet – at all, just because? despite being sent instructions so minutely detailed that EYE was embarrassed whilst typing them.
The lady who alternated whisper-questions / orgasmic noises during the entirety of a guided journey class, then made this big awkward scene about joining my mailing list immediately afterward … only to unsubscribe from said list that same night.
The good sir who wanted to take me out to lunch in lieu of a proper session. When I clarified that stir-fry is inadequate compensation, he offered to pay me in rap beats, alkaline water, and travelers’ cheques.
The undeniable gem of a woman who – after a nine-month absence from T.I.P during which she’d booked and canceled multiple unpaid appointments while regularly attempting to finagle gratis zuzsh via “friendly” messages – showered upon me (on my day off) a frenzied litany of texts lamenting how the previous three years of romantic emotional manipulation to which she’d partially devoted her life had proved wildly unsuccessful and became irate when I was A) unwilling to drop everything to listen to her cry RIGHT THEN, and B) insistent that she pay for my services.
The friend of a friend who said: “I think what you do is horse shit but you’re one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met and I want to tell you all my problems and hear your opinion on them but I’d never pay you for that. Also, people hate me and assume I voted for [REDACTED] just because I’m rich and blonde and you have NO IDEA what it’s like to be judged only on the basis of how you look.”
The ones who attempt to casually “trick” me into offering guidance, especially at parties. Y’all GOTTA quit that shit posthaste before I hex you for real.
The ones who always email to ask my availability like I don’t pay for and operate a whole entire website. [Ed. note: these people rarely end up booking, which makes it SUPER worth my time.]
The ones who do visit the website but seemingly refuse to practice reading comprehension.
The ones who, upon learning that I do shamanic work, immediately ask if I can get them psilocybin.
The ones who try to physically sneak-siphon my energy via unwanted touch (e.g., hugs, leg rubs, hair fondling, biting) as if I don’t feel them pawing at me and as if there’s ZERO possibility they might decide to grab at my personhood on the wrong day and leave with nubs &/or 5% fewer teeth. Lest we forget your girl was born and raised in Brooklyn, NY and hosts within her a steadily simmering cauldron of volcanic rage. Seriously, no me toques sin permiso energético. It’s consent practice, not rocket science.
The ones who forget I’m a human being with financial and physical requirements (who’s also navigating socioeconomic inequality, generational & current trauma, and modern-day lynchings, to name a few delightful extras) rather than a sparkly android who resides in cosmic stasis until THEY decide they’re in need.
And yet the most amazing bit is that all these people, with all their unconscious hijinks and attempted scammery, have been tremendously useful (along with being terribly annoying) during these baby business years. They’re the reason just about every T.I.P guideline, rule, and regulation exists. They pointed out the places T.I.P required structure and rigor. They helped me teach myself how to construct and maintain boundaries. I had to find my “no” – so I could say it to them.
So: here’s to the jokers, the creepers, the flakers; props to the whiners, the yahoos, the advantage takers – I thank you for helping me grow. I wish you all the best. From a great distance.
And PS? FFS and the love of Merlin, stop calling me “Mama” if we don’t rock like that. It’s weird and actually kinda racist. Cool? Cool.
